Consequences
by Mairwen
Summary: There were only ever supposed to be nine walkers against the nine riders. What would be the real consequences of changing that? What would be the fate of the fellowship if Merry hadn't come?
1. Bad luck

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Authors note: **I got persuaded into writing this so I thought I might as well post it on to see what other people think. I was given the challenge to actually write a fic where there are consequences to another person joining the fellowship, like who wouldn't be able to come along because of this 'replacement', what the consequences would be of not having that one member of the original fellowship, for example: if Merry and Pippin had not come along, would Boromir have died? And if not, would he and Aragorn have gone on to Minas Tirith and thus have never encountered the Rohirrim? And so forth. The main question being: would the ring have been destroyed? I believe that it wouldn't work, and this is simply an exploration of it.

'"_I would have begged for you to come," said Frodo, "Only I thought you were going to Minas Tirith with Boromir."_

"_I am," said Aragorn. "And the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be re-forged ere I set out for war. But your road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles." _(Chapter III: 'The Ring goes South', Book II, The Fellowship of the Ring.)

At least I got a chance to read Lord of the Rings again. One positive. Any sort of review is appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter 1:** Bad luck 

"See you next week! Hope you can get the stain off your t-shirt!" Sarah called enthusiastically as she waved goodbye and disappeared into the mass of students hurrying to be the first through the school gates and into freedom.

With a grimace, Tom wiped at his t-shirt as if he could magically remove the bright red stain without the use of washing detergent. Next time, he decided, he would avoid helping out in Science lessons – especially with year 7's. The little brats had decided it would be rather fun to squirt food dye at each other using pipettes; subsequently Tom had been hit square in the chest, having not heard the shrill cry of "Duck!"

"Bye," he replied sulkily, not really in the mood to be anything other than pissed off, "We'll see." If not there would be some very sorry eleven year olds if he ever managed to catch the slimy little worms.

The A Level student forced his way through the crowd, using his authority as one of the eldest at the secondary school. Soon he found himself off the school premises and heading down the street to where his car was parked just beside the old Norman village church.

The car wasn't much, though it was his pride and joy. Ignoring the patches of rust and the numerous dents, the car was in good condition for its age. Tom shoved the keys into the door-lock and opened it, making a mental note that the hinge needed to be oiled.

Bang! It was quite satisfying to take his anger out on something as he shut the door with as much force as he possibly could. With a small smile, he started the car; oblivious to the blinking red light that was supposed to be warning him that the fuel was low (it was covered by a blob of chewing gum).

The car set off at a rumble as he made his way home, occasionally enjoying soaking some of the pupils cycling to the next village, by driving through some rather large puddles. Perhaps it was a small act of vengeance, which also happened to be very satisfying as well. Slowly, he was becoming more cheerful.

About ten minutes had passed and the car began to slow down, having used its last resource of fuel. "Damn," Tom muttered, pressing the accelerator down further as if that would help matters. "Knew I should have done something this morning." But being a typical teenager, he had been totally skint and thus forgotten about it.

Now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with only fields surrounding him and the next village several miles away. Bugger. Could the day get any worse? Sighing, Tom climbed out the car and opened the boot, pulling out the Petrol Can that he kept in there for just such situations. He would either have to walk to the nearest petrol station, or go begging at the next village for some spare petrol or someone to drive him home.

Tom glanced back at his car, wondering if it would survive the night by itself if it came to that, before walking away. The countryside around him had quite a few burnt-out vehicles…crime rates were rather high for such a rural place.

His shoes weren't made for walking for long in, his legs as well for that matter. Tom could just imagine the picture he made: a fool limping along the road, who also happened to look like they had been stabbed in the chest. The thoughts of, 'damn, bugger, damn, bugger, damn,' came in time to his footsteps, he deserved to have his mouth washed out with soap.

Today was not his lucky day; it was getting strangely foggy for some reason, so much so that he could barely see two hundred feet in front of him. At least it would teach him to remember to fill up the car or to remember his mobile phone.

With a start, Tom came to a stop. Something had just squelched under him and he had felt his foot sink slightly. "Mud?" He found himself speaking aloud as he looked down at his feet to find them covered in the sticky substance. Since when had he left the road? He didn't remember stepping off it…maybe he hadn't been paying attention to where he was walking.

"Great! Something else to clean."

Well, he might as well continue in the direction he was going in, as, using his logic, there was bound to be a farm nearby. If only he had joined D of E, at least then he would have had some idea as to what he was doing. Yet he had been too lazy to get off his arse and go camping in the Peak District.

He was getting annoyed now, very annoyed. It was cold, more importantly, _he_ was cold, and Tom was sure it would end up raining. Bad luck usually came all at once.

Gritting his teeth, the seventeen year old continued trudging along, his grip becoming ever tighter on the Petrol Can as he muttered to himself. The wetness of the mud was seeping through the bottom of his trousers, making him feel rather uncomfortable.

Five minutes was quickly followed by ten, and then fifteen until finally Tom lost track, he wouldn't be too surprised if his watch had stopped. He was no closer to finding a village, petrol station or farm. Something was wrong; he travelled the route everyday and knew he should have come across a village by now, at least two. Fear and worry began to make his stomach feel as though it was doing somersaults.

"Nothing's wrong, don't be stupid," he told himself, trying to persuade himself the words were true. "Maybe you're dreaming, or you've just gone mad." Talking to oneself was most definitely a sign of madness…

He was lost, there was no denying it; lost and most likely miles from home. Tom wondered whether he should simply turn around and head back towards his car. It would have made sense to wait until another car came by, even if it meant waiting for an hour or two. Why hadn't he thought of this at the very beginning? Hopeless, he was absolutely hopeless at times.

It was better to continue on the way he was going, he _had_ to come across something sooner or later. There were villages dotted all about the area, perhaps the local city wasn't too far away either; surely he would come across one of them? It wasn't like he actually lived in the middle of nowhere.

At least he was getting exercise, Tom decided, trying to look to the positives and stop himself worrying. He rarely walked anywhere, relying instead on cars or public transport. He could do with losing a pound or two.

Tom's thought were stopped in mid-flow as a flitter of hope coursed through his veins, he had finally spotted something ahead of him. Maybe his mum had gotten worried and phoned the police, and now as a result a search party was coming to find him. You never knew…

Happiness soon overcame any other emotion; he didn't care that he was covered in mud and looking utterly dishevelled. "Over here!" he said, waving. If he had been any less desperate for help, Tom might have realised that it was very unlikely a search party would have been organised for someone who had been missing for barely more than an hour. Such thoughts never occurred to him.

The feeling of hope was soon destroyed as the 'search party' came ever closer. They were like nothing Tom had ever seen, he found himself taking a step back as their guttural speech –if it could be called speech- reached his ears. No-one sounded like that, even _if _they were drunk. The speech sounded more as though it belonged to some sort of animal or monster. Maybe he was dreaming, maybe he'd fallen asleep at the wheel. Excuses began flitting through his mind in an attempt to explain the situation. It just could not be possible, it was not real; it couldn't be!

To describe them, was to say they were hideous bow-legged creatures, their arms seemed longer than a human's. Any possible thought that they might be a band of re-enactor's disappeared almost as fast as the hope. Why would anyone want to dress up like that? As they came closer, Tom was able to make out their faces; jagged, yellow fangs could be seen in their wide mouths. It was their eyes that made Tom's blood run cold though; crimson gashes amidst the blackness.

"Do you understand me? I'm lost and I need some help." He didn't know why he said the words; perhaps he was still clinging on to the hope that they might simply be people dressed up. It was then that he saw the swords…no-one in the whole of East Anglia carried a real sword with them. If they had, they would have been quickly arrested.

In a rush of panic, Tom found himself stumbling backwards as he dropped the Petrol Can, completely forgetting about needing to get some fuel. His mind screamed at him to run, the flight-or-fight instinct coming to the fore. He was in deep trouble; he had to go, there was no questioning it for they looked as though they could quite easily kill him.

And so he ran, he didn't bother to look back, didn't care whether he was acting like the coward. Some primal instinct told him that those things were dangerous, and he should avoid them at all costs. He was going to die! Murdered trying to find some petrol! He could imagine the news headlines, what fun they would have with that.

His legs already ached from all the walking and hurt even more as he ran away. He'd heard adrenaline could make you run faster for longer, but it really was the wrong situation to test whether the statement was correct. He knew he couldn't keep on with the pace forever.

It was almost as if they _were_ animals, the sight of seeing their prey fleeing was the only incitement needed for them to follow after. Tom inwardly flinched at the sound of their excited yelling. He could hear leather creaking, metal banging against metal, and it was coming ever closer. They were gaining on him.

Tom really did not want to find out what they actually were, whether beast or human. He didn't care. Each breath was becoming more painful as he continued to run, his chest seemed as though it was on fire, whilst his legs felt as though they would collapse beneath him any moment.

He wished desperately for his car to appear, though what use it was without any petrol…at least it would be one thing standing between him and them. How could such creatures be roaming East Anglia without anyone noticing? Surely someone would have spotted them; it wasn't as if the area was anything other than farmland.

Suddenly, Tom found himself tumbling downwards, the ground rapidly coming to meet him. His ankle was sending out sharp, stabbing pains. He hadn't seen the rabbit hole, concealed as it was in the undergrowth, and so he had managed to fall down it.

_Get up! Get up!_ His mind screamed, telling him to ignore the pain. He glanced up, seeing the _things_ coming even closer- barely twenty metres away. Tom scrambled up, leaving a shoe behind in the process, his ankle protesting at having to carry the weight of his body. It must have been broken or sprained in the fall; certainly it was in no condition for him to run on, though he didn't fail to try.

Tom Fellowes was going to die at only seventeen; he was sure of it, so much for dying old and rich. Why couldn't they have been a search party? It was all too much for his mind to take, maybe he was having a nightmare, and before they reached him he would wake up. What was happening was impossible, it couldn't be real. Why had he left his car?

Tom collapsed once more to the ground, his energy completely spent. He was going to die, and for some reason he wanted to laugh, he felt suddenly hysterical. They were going to find his body abandoned in some ditch, and the police would never know that he had been killed by some psychos in costumes. He was in the wrong country for this to happen. You didn't get mutant Fenlanders.

He found himself waiting for the inevitable with his eyes squeezed shut, maybe he could have put up at least a little fight. His heart pounded against his chest, he could hear them slowly coming to a stop, the creak of leather, the sound of metal grating against metal, their heavy breathing. And suddenly all went black.

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Please tell me if it's worth continuing or not… 


	2. Wishful thinking

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Tolkien.

**Author's note: **Thanks for all the hits I got for the first chapter, and to **Jedi Knight247** and **fifithepinapplegodess**: I will most definitely be continuing, it's turning out to be quite interesting to write, and thank you for the reviews, I really appreciated it.

'_But I may say that I know all the lands between the Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for many years'. (_Aragorn speaking to Frodo in Chapter X: 'Strider', Book I, Fellowship of the Ring.)

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**Chapter 2:** Wishful Thinking

His head hurt, it felt as though he had gotten himself completely drunk and now, as a result, had a massive hangover. Tom groaned as he became more conscious, shoving the events that had just happened to the back of his mind for the time being. It had been nothing more than a nightmare and now he would open his eyes and find himself either in his car or in bed.

The headache was all but forgotten as shock rippled through him. He shouldn't have opened his eyes he realised as everything came into focus; he should have kept them shut. The young man tensed almost immediately, becoming suddenly aware of the scratchy ropes that bound his wrists and the throbbing pain in his ankle. Ropes? Why would he be tied up? Were his mates messing about and playing tricks on him? No, they would not be so cruel.

It seemed he had yet to wake up, and hence was still dreaming. It was the only rational way to explain everything. If he closed his eyes then perhaps everything would simply disappear, but then that meant taking his eyes off the _things_.

Tom took in the sight before him, finding that there were about eight of the creatures, _whatever the hell they were_, sitting around a fire and talking in their strange, guttural speech. They had yet to notice that he was awake, and Tom found he wanted to keep it that way. Why hadn't he been killed yet? He had no idea what they could want with him; he wasn't of any importance, not even worth a decent ransom, but then it was a dream, and nothing ever made sense in dreams.

_Wake up, please, wake up. Come on!_ he willed himself. If he would only waken everything would be all right. It would be normal. At the same time he tried to move his arms which were tied behind his back. Perhaps he could loosen the bonds and find some way to escape, even if one of his legs was practically useless. Humans could do remarkable things when the need arose.

The teen wanted nothing more than to go home, where everything made sense. Tom had to admit that he was scared, terrified of what might happen to him, he didn't want to die; he only wanted to be home safe and sound. He wanted so much to believe it all was a dream.

The creatures, things, whatever they were, seemed to be arguing over something. Their raspy voices were slowly rising and, Tom noticed as his breath quickened with panic, one of them had raised its sword; the metal glinted wickedly in the fading light. It seemed to be nothing more than a sharp piece of jagged metal; even to him it looked as if it possessed no true craftsmanship. Strange it was that he took such notice of meaningless things when he was likely to be dead in the next twenty-four hours.

_Shit_! He was going to be sick; Tom shut his eyes and tried to settle his stomach as it threatened to empty. He had not seen what he thought he had, it was his imagination, his mind was playing tricks on him, nothing was real; it had all just been an illusion. But the teen could not stop the scene from replaying over and over again in his mind. One of the creatures had just cut off one of the other's head! It had just _murdered_ another being without showing any remorse, if anything, it seemed to be laughing.

Tom had learnt about beheadings while studying the Tudor period in History lessons, but he had never imagined it would be anything like _this.._.what he had just _seen._ He had never seen so much blood, and his mind had recorded every moment; how it had spurted, the sound of the weapon cutting through flesh, the sweet, sickly smell that belonged only to blood…Tom swallowed, willing his stomach to settle and refusing to give in to it. He was not going to be sick!

What had just happened meant it was likely to be for real then, for he couldn't have imagined anything like that in such detail, and now he was likely to be next; the thought chilled him. Perhaps they were cannibals, he'd heard there were such people in the world, though this close to England, _in_ England? Tom still wanted to believe he was in East Anglia, in England; he had to for the sake of his own sanity.

Again, he urged himself to wake up, though deep down he knew such a thing would never happen; it wasn't a dream. He wanted to scream out for help. He was going to die, he was going to be murdered and no-one was around to help him; he was alone.

Tom still did not dare to open his eyes, scared of what they might see for the noises were bad enough. Tears stung them as he heard the sound of flesh being ripped; it _had_ to be flesh for it could not be anything else. They couldn't be eating it, surely? He had never been so petrified in all his life. Other fears he had had, seemed mild in comparison, almost childish; this was the first time he had actually feared for his life.

He was going to die, he just knew it.

* * *

Aragorn, known as Strider to some, had been diverted from the course he had been taking after coming across the tracks of orcs. Orcs rarely ventured so close to Rivendell, for it was clear that they feared the power of the elves; those who they loathed above all else…Yet here was evidence of them, and recent from the looks of it.

"Why would they be here?" Elladan asked; a hint of anger in his voice as he surveyed the footprints, his eyes far more farsighted than Aragorn's own. It was well known that the sons of Elrond despised the spawn of Morgoth, the creatures had caused their mother to leave for the shores of Valinor and never look upon Middle-earth again.

Elladan and Elrohir had decided to accompany Aragorn on a hunting trip, for it was increasingly rare for them to see their brother these days, the latter was usually far from Imladris, and they had to admit they enjoyed spending time with the mortal. But the twins had not expected to come across such tracks; usually orcs were to be found leagues away.

Aragorn urged his horse into a faster trot, his eyes still scanning the tracks as he answered, "I know no more than you. I have never seen them so close to Imladris. One might find them in Gondor, but here?" He was at a loss; Gondor shared its borders with Mordor, but Mordor was miles from here. The orcs would have had to travel through Gondor, Rohan and leagues further, surely it was impossible for them to arrive so unscathed? It simply did not make sense.

Elrohir looked up at the sky, "It appears they have been travelling through the day, though night now draws in. It is unlikely they will stop," he stated quietly. The sun was slowly setting though it was barely evening, as it did so early in autumn. It would not be too long before the land was completely masked in darkness; perhaps an hour or two at the most. Was it so wise to hunt them in darkness? Elrohir could not help but wonder.

Why were they here? What had drawn them so close? Aragorn could not tell from the tracks how many of the creatures there was, though there seemed to be no more than twenty, fewer perhaps…why would such a small band travel so far? The questions seemed to be multiplying.

"Aragorn!" Elladan had moved ahead, and now turned his stallion back round, beckoning for his brothers to see what he had found, a sense of urgency to his voice as he dismounted swiftly.

"What have you seen?" Aragorn asked as he drew level with his brother, Elrohir immediately beside him as their horses shifted nervously, sensing their rider's mood.

Elladan lifted up what seemed to be a piece of footwear, though Aragorn had never seen the likes of it before. "It seems the orcs came across something, or someone," the elder twin answered.

The footwear seemed to be made of leather though it was not a boot or one of the light shoes elves sometimes favoured. The sole was made of some material Aragorn had never before come across, though it had a texture similar to that of leather; tough and sturdy.

"What do you think it belongs to?" Aragorn asked as he continued to study it.

Patting his horse's neck, Elrohir shrugged, "I know not. A Dwarf?" He could not hide the distaste that crept into his voice. There had always been an animosity between Dwarves and Elves; for ever cool was the friendship between the Naugrim and the Eldar, even before the Noldor returned to Middle-earth.

Elladan shook his head, "I do not think so. I only know that we are wasting time trying to find out to whom it belongs. We are more likely to find the answer among the orcs."

Giving the shoe one last look, Aragorn discovered that there was some sort of text on the base, though it was neither Dwarvish nor any form of Elvish he knew. "You are right, Elladan," he said, putting the shoe in his saddlebag and asking his horse to move forward once more.

The trio continued to follow the tracks, Elladan occasionally scouting ahead to check for any danger. After one such trip, he came back at a canter, reining his stallion in as soon as he came level with his brothers. "I've found them," he said, "I think we should leave the horses here and continue on foot."

Elrohir nodded, his eyes looking ahead in the direction Elladan had come from. "Do you know how many there is?"

"I did not have clear view, but there seemed to be no-more than fifteen, perhaps less. It seems, though, that they are in the middle of an argument. They should be easy to surprise." It seemed more as if Elladan was merely discussing the weather; the elf seemed to be extremely calm. "It will be better if we approach on foot."

After dismounting, Aragorn tied his horse's reins in a knot so it would lessen the chance of the animal becoming tangled up in them. He did not wish for any harm to come to Roheryn, the animal had been a gift from Arwen.

His brothers did the same to their own mounts'; the animals could be trusted not to get into any sort of danger. Aragorn strung his bow so that it would be ready to use, and then once finished he looked to see if his brothers were ready. "Any specific plan?" he asked.

"Approach where they are camped from different directions," Elrohir replied, "That way, we have a better chance of surprising them more if arrows were to come from three different directions."

It was agreed; Aragorn felt a twinge of nervousness that came before every orc hunt. He knew they had faced greater odds before, but it was the same with every hunt; one wrong move could mean death.

* * *

The situation had yet to change, Tom had tried vainly to loosen the bonds though he had only succeeded in making them cut into his wrists. The seventeen year old felt he would need more than a plaster if he ever got free.

He had finally dared to open his eyes, finding that the creatures were still there, and it had appeared they _had_ eaten one of their chums. Just thinking about it made Tom want to vomit. He was sure he could still see the dark blood staining the ground, though it was slowly getting darker as it dried.

Tom was far from religious, but he swore if he ever got out of the situation he would attend church every Sunday for the rest of his life without complaint. He had to get free, somehow, someway.

His hairs stood on end as one of the foul creatures turned its attention away from the fighting, and instead looked at him. This was it, he was going to die. Tom could not help but notice the things eyes again; no-one had eyes like that. There was undoubtedly something evil about it, almost as if it were some sort of demon come from hell. It smiled at him, revealing a row of sharp, jagged fangs which were black with blood…Black blood? Since when did anyone have black blood?

Being more than ready to admit he was a coward, Tom shut his eyes once more, too frightened to stare death in the face. He wanted his family, his friends; anybody. He had never thought he would die so alone and so helpless.

Something whistled through the air, followed by a thump as it hit something. There was a gasp of surprise and pain, and the next moment Tom found that the creature's body had landed upon him, it was heavy and stank, but he dared not move. Maybe the search party had finally found him, and were shooting at the beasts with guns. He had not before felt so much hope.

The things seemed to shake off their surprise and retaliate, there were grunts and the sound of combat, sword striking against sword. The guttural shouts made his hair stand on end, yet he kept still, barely daring to move, the weight of the body still upon him.

Silence soon reigned. Tom cracked an eye open, scared of what he might find. All the things were dead, fallen on the ground, some with arrows protruding from their backs. Oh, he was definitely not in England…but perhaps he had travelled back in time. Yes, that could be it, even though it was far from a comforting thought.

He opened his eyes fully and looked up, trying, at the same time, to push the corpse off him. Tom stopped suddenly, his brain finally realising what exactly was lying on top on him. A dead body, a corpse! Before he could stop himself, he let out a startled shout, trying desperately to get away from the thing as far as possible. His stomach yet again threatened to empty its contents. He was going to be sick, he knew it.

The teen looked about him wildly, panic controlling his body as he looked for somewhere to escape to. Tom froze as his eyes came to rest upon something that was most definitely not good; three people were pointing rather sharp looking arrows at him. Maybe he was still going to die.

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**TBC.**


End file.
